Discipline
by Jellico
Summary: What if Clark did not recover his powers from Eric Summers in S1-E12, "Leech"? And what if he got a little too comfortable being a regular teenaged boy with raging hormones and poor impulse control? Chores are being skipped and curfews are being ignored! How will his exasperated parents rein him in? Trust Jonathan Kent to find a way…


**A/N** : Be advised this Season 1 fanfic does not follow _Smallville_ canon since reference is made to heat vision, which Clark does not develop until Season 2…

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Martha Kent suppressed a sigh as she glanced in her husband's direction while folding laundry on the dining room table. He wasn't pacing anymore and his expression wasn't as stony as it had been earlier, but his arms were still crossed with steely determination, and he hadn't really moved from the sentry position he'd taken by the kitchen window thirty minutes ago. Martha considered once again what other arguments she might present to change his mind that she hadn't already tried, but before she could decide on any, Jonathan's brows came together and he stepped forward to open the back door.

"It's about time that son of ours got home." He gave her a significant look. "You'd better go for that walk now, sweetheart."

Martha dropped the towel in her hand and went around the table to him. Instead of passing him by to step out onto the porch, though, she gently closed the kitchen door then lay a warm hand on his chest.

"Jonathan, please reconsider. Spanking Clark at his age can't be the only answer."

"Isn't it? Martha, it's been nearly six months since Eric Summers took Clark's abilities then skipped town, and I think I've been pretty darn patient while our son got used to being a normal teenage boy —"

"Jonathan—"

"—but there is a limit to my patience, especially when our son's idea of 'normality' includes disobedience, disrespect _and_ skipping out on his chores every other day to hang out at Saunder's Gorge with Pete and his new pals from the football team. Have you forgotten how many times in the last two weeks alone that he's tried to sneak in this very door well past his curfew?"

Martha took in her husband's arched eyebrows and shook her head.

"I haven't forgotten, she admitted reluctantly, "but he's experimenting right now, Jonathan, and it wouldn't hurt us to be a little more tolerant. He's finally catching up on all the fun things his friends do without worrying all the time about who he might hurt—"

"Martha."

"—or who might be watching—"

" _Martha._ "

"What?"

"He's getting worse, sweetheart. We need to rein him in now, not later, because we are not starting off the new school year with even more attitude problems than we had last semester. We talked about this."

"I know we did," Martha fretted, "but I just think we need to remember that Clark's not zipping all over town anymore, trying to solve crimes without getting caught or exposing his abilities. He doesn't have the weight of the world on his shoulders like he used to, which I'm sure is pretty liberating. This is the first time ever in his life that he's truly carefree. Don't you understand what that must mean to him?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I do understand." Jonathan stiffened, annoyed at the implication that he didn't know his own son or didn't sympathize with the boy's situation. "But carefree does _not_ equal irresponsible, Martha, not on this farm. It never has, and it never will. Clark can be a regular teenager anytime he wants _without_ acting like an inconsiderate brat and forgetting everything we've ever taught him. He knows that full well yet he's deliberately choosing to ignore it for convenience sake." As Martha promptly opened her mouth to protest, Jonathan took her hands in his and squeezed them reassuringly. "Look, sweetheart, I know he's young and he's enjoying a freedom he never had before, but losing his abilities is not a license to act any way he pleases. Our boy obviously needs a stern reminder of that, the kind my father had to dish out to me more than once when I was fifteen."

"Well, maybe we could ground him then or –"

"I've already tried that, Martha. We both have, and you know it. We've confined him to the farm and to his room, we've given him extra chores, we've talked to him and lectured him until the cows come home and you even gave him a paper to write. Has he even started it yet? The deadline was last Monday, and you've reminded him twice."

Martha's cheeks turned pink at the pointed look her husband was giving her, but she nonetheless stood her ground. "No, he hasn't, but I'm sure he will if I drop another hint. You know how forgetful teenagers can be. I just need to nudge him again, that's all. I'm sure he won't let me down."

As Martha pressed her lips together and nodded to herself, Jonathan looked into her eyes and bit down on his impatience. He couldn't fault her devotion to their son or her determination to save her baby from pain. She had always been an outstanding mother and it was part of what he loved about her. But, there was a time and place for spoiling and a time and place for discipline, and tonight, unfortunately, their son was sorely in need of the latter. Determined to do the right thing for the boy – while hoping his wife forgave him in time – Jonathan hugged Martha to him.

"Sweetheart, I'm sorry, but Clark's had enough second chances. I _might_ reconsider warming his behind depending on what he tells us in the next few minutes, but the way he's been acting lately I seriously doubt he's going to give me a choice." Before Martha could object any further, Jonathan opened the back kitchen door again and bellowed for their only child, who'd long since vanished inside the barn.

 _"Clark Kent, stop hiding in your loft and get in here, son. Now!"_

Martha was definitely not pleased with him. She gave him a sharp look, spun on her heel and returned to the dining room where she snatched up a towel and snapped it.

Jonathan truly wished it hadn't come to this. It wasn't often that he brooked no argument and refused to let his wife's concerns sway his position even if only a little, but tonight he knew he had to. As Clark's father, it had always been up to him to decide the boy's punishments when his crimes were major, so he set his jaw, made a mental note to add five extra swats to Clark's sit spots for causing dissension between his parents and bellowed for the boy again.

 _"CLARK!"_

Unbelievably, it took another five minutes before the son in question sauntered across the yard and up the back porch. Worse, he actually grinned as he entered the house and faced off against his fuming father, completely unconcerned with the late hour or how long he'd been missing.

"You want something, Pops?"

Right then, Jonathan was extremely grateful he had never been gifted with heat vision. If he had, his only son would've surely died just now. Reminding himself that Clark was just a cocky young boy testing his father like countless teenagers before him, Jonathan took a firm hold of Clark's right bicep, pulled him further into the house then let him go to shut and lock the kitchen door.

"Yes, son, as a matter of fact I do want something."

"Oh, yeah? And what's that?"

"First of all, I want to know why you keep calling me a name I've told you repeatedly that I hate." As Clark rolled his eyes, Jonathan narrowed his. "Second, I want to know why it's past nine o'clock at night and this is the first time you've been seen on this farm since eight this morning."

"Well, you see, _Dad_ —"

"What I see, _Clark_ , is that your evening chores weren't done for the fifth day in a row _and_ you missed dinner again with your family. You didn't call or—"

"Will you stop freaking out? I can explain."

"Oh, really? Does your explanation involve you being hurt or visiting a sick friend in the hospital?"

"Hell, no!"

"Were you helping a neighbor in any way that your mother and I would approve of?"

Clark could see where this was going. He sighed and looked up to heaven. "No, Dad. I wasn't."

"All right then. Was a life or death situation the cause of you waltzing in here at quarter to ten?"

"Gee, what do you think?"

That was enough for Martha, who had been growing more and more dismayed by the indifference and disrespect she was witnessing. She abandoned all pretense of folding laundry to march back into the kitchen and stand by Jonathan's side. "Clark Kent!"

"What, Mom? Clark's brows came together defensively as he glared from her to her husband then back again. "What do you want from me? He asked a dumb question, so he got a dumb answer!"

"Clark! What has gotten into you lately? Do you want a mouth-soaping, young man?!"

Clark started to retort but then abruptly decided this conversation was beneath him. He brushed off the anger and outrage coming from his parents to head over to the refrigerator and inspect the top shelf.

"I'm hungry. What was for dinner?" Before either parent could reply, Clark spotted it himself. "Awesome, fried chicken!"

Jonathan shot his wife a look then deliberately went over and planted himself before his ravenous son. "Yes, and you missed it."

"No, I didn't. It's right there. Move."

Jonathan did not. What he did do was crowd his son until the boy had no choice but to step back in self-preservation until he bumped into the island and plunked down onto a stool. Jonathan reached back and slammed the fridge door shut so all temptation was out of sight.

"Dinner is off the table for you, mister, and if you know what's good for you, you _will_ curb that attitude this instant. Do you hear me?"

As upset as Martha was, she did not like the look brewing on her husband's face. "Jonathan—"

"No worries, Mom," Clark scoffed. "I expected your husband to pitch a fit. It's all he does lately." Ignoring his conscience with ease, Clark straightened his spine and raised his chin defiantly at his father. "So, _Pops_ , how long am I grounded for this time?"

"Oh, you've just graduated, son. It's time for the next step." Jonathan pulled Clark to standing then pointed toward the stairs. "Go to your room."

Clark cut his eyes then tried to step around his father. "Whatever. The less we see each other the better for me obviously, so I'll just grab some chicken first and be on my way."

Jonathan promptly blocked his path. "Oh no you don't, son. I said dinner was off the table for you and I meant it. Get going."

"And I will after I take a few drumsti—"

"I said get upstairs!"

Before Clark could protect himself, Jonathan turned him back around forcibly then swatted the seat of his jeans. It was only three spanks, but Clark clearly felt them. He clapped both hands over his now stinging backside, a shocked, angry and wounded expression twisting his normally handsome features.

"OW! Dad, that hurt!"

 _"Get!"_

Clark took one look at the storm clouds overtaking his father's face and did what any halfway intelligent fifteen-year-old boy would do: he obeyed. Pouting fiercely, he shot his mom a look of betrayal and his dad a look of fury but then stomped upstairs since he clearly had no choice, taking care to pound each and every step lest his feelings on the matter be the slightest bit unclear. When he reached his room, he slammed the door.

A disappointed Jonathan shook his head in disbelief as he returned his attention to his wife. "Can you believe that? Do you agree with me now that he needs more than just another grounding doomed to fail?"

Martha hesitated but nodded once all the same, though it clearly pained her to do so. Jonathan ran a comforting hand down her arm then moved to take the first step after their son, but she held him back and said, "Just … don't be too hard on him, okay? Please, Jonathan. He needs to know you still love him no matter what."

Jonathan offered her a quick smile. "Don't worry. I promise you he'll be able to sit just fine for breakfast and that he'll know I did it because I love him. Now, why don't you take that walk we talked about this afternoon?"

"All right, I—" On the verge of doing exactly as her spouse had suggested, Martha stopped, shocked that his hands were now poised to undo his belt buckle. She placed her hands over his immediately. "No, Jonathan, absolutely not."

Jonathan gave Martha a look of exasperation, but she didn't back down, so he tried tact instead. "Sweetheart, be reasonable. Clark's not a little boy anymore. He's about to start his sophomore year in high school and he's almost as tall as I am. At his age, he needs my belt to really feel it."

"No, he doesn't. He felt your hand just fine a moment ago. You can easily use that again."

"Martha, that's not how—"

"I mean it, Jonathan. No belt or no spanking."

Jonathan studied his wife's features and had no doubt that she meant what she'd just said. A split second later, he realized this was exactly how his own father must have felt that time he'd spray-painted the barn on a dare at age thirteen then hurried to wash it off before either parent returned from town. Dad had caught him right in the middle of course and ordered him to his room to wait, but the bare-bottom switching he'd been promised never materialized in the end. Thanks to his mom's interference, his pants had stayed up and all he'd felt that day were ten sharp whacks by hand followed by a stern warning to get back outside and finish the clean-up job he'd started. Jonathan had never really appreciated before how frustrated his father must have felt, having his decision countermanded like that, but he definitely appreciated it now.

He pursed his lips and was sorely tempted to argue the point with Martha, but then he nodded once, surrendering to her just like Hiram Kent had surrendered to his own soft-hearted wife thirty years prior.

"Fine, sweetheart, no belt. I'll take him over my knees and apply my hand like I did when he was eight. Will you please go for that walk now?"

With a small smile of gratitude, Martha squeezed his hand then left, fully trusting that he would respect her wishes.

Jonathan watched her go until she was out of sight past the storage shed before he walked to the kitchen stairs and paused on the bottom step to gather strength. God knows, he wasn't looking forward to punishing Clark physically, but he had tried everything else in his parenting arsenal and the boy had flatly refused to learn from lesser punishments. Well, he wouldn't be able to ignore what was coming next. Of that, Jonathan intended to make absolutely 100% sure.

He took a deep breath, then set his jaw and climbed the stairs to go deal with his son.

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When Martha returned some forty minutes later, she had mentally prepared herself for almost anything. Given the way Clark had been behaving, she wouldn't have been surprised to learn he'd run away as soon as his sentence had been pronounced and she wouldn't have put it past Jonathan either to have chased him all throughout Lowell County. In fact, knowing how stubborn both of the most important males in her life could be, Martha fully expected to find them still upstairs and arguing with the spanking itself only barely begun.

So, what greeted her when she stepped over the threshold into the kitchen?

Dead silence.

Movement to the left soon caught her eye and she turned to find Jonathan sitting at the dining room table, soaking his right hand – which certainly answered her question on whether he'd truly gone ahead with spanking their teenaged son. Even without the bowl of cold water in front of him, the emotional pain stamped across his handsome face said it all.

Martha couldn't take it. She went straight to him and hugged him close right where he sat, determined to make it clear that she knew and understood how hard punishing Clark must have been on him.

Jonathan returned her hug for only a few seconds, though, before he pulled away and nodded stiffly toward the stairs.

"Our boy needs you more than I do right now, sweetheart. Go to him."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure. Go."

Martha didn't need to be told a third time. She hurried upstairs, paused outside Clark's closed bedroom door to knock once and then entered without waiting for his answer. It didn't occur to her that her fifteen-year-old son might be too upset for visitors, that he might be half-naked and in need of privacy, his jeans and underwear still pooled around his ankles. Even if the thought had occurred to her, it wouldn't have stopped her, not right then. The only consideration on her mind was offering comfort, so the moment she saw her baby sprawled on his stomach in bed with his head buried under his pillow, his shoulders shaking and one hand clapped behind him, rubbing the seat of his boxers, all thoughts of how poorly he'd been behaving these last few months were forgotten. She hurried to the bed, sat beside him and forgave him everything.

Downstairs, Jonathan had not been wrong when he'd said that their son needed her. The second Clark noticed his mattress dipping under Martha's weight and then felt her loving hand stroking his back, he came out from under his pillow, turned to her and clung to her waist, his entire face practically buried in her left hip.

"M-Mom! Mommy!"

Martha's heart nearly broke. It had been at least six years since Clark had addressed her that way, and though sometimes she missed hearing him call her that, she certainly would never have wanted a spanking of all things to be the reason behind its renewal. She hugged him to her, blinked fast and swallowed the rising lump in her throat to keep from sobbing right along with him.

"I'm here, honey. Mommy's right here. Everything's all right now."

"But Dad s-spa—!"

"I know, honey, I know."

"It h-hurt, Mom!"

"I know it did, baby, but you'll be fine in a little while. Shhh. I'm here now and I'll stay as long as you need me."

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Jonathan was in the living room, watching the last of the late-night news when a weary Martha descended the front stairs an hour later and joined him on the sofa. He muted the television and put his arm around her as she leaned into him.

"So …?" he asked carefully. "How is he?"

Martha sighed. "He's better now, I think. He should be asleep in a few minutes."

"You were up there a while. What happened?"

"Well … what you'd expect, I suppose. He cried into my lap and I did what I could to soothe him. We talked eventually, but it wasn't easy this time getting him to open up to me. He kept wanting to know why I didn't stop you from punishing him that way."

Jonathan was silent a moment then asked quietly, "What was your answer? Did you tell him you were against it? That it all was my idea?"

Martha was too conflicted to answer at first, for as a doting mother, she knew exactly what she wanted to say. Considering how tightly Clark had held onto her initially and how he'd insisted she plug in his Elmer Fudd nightlight before she left him, she wanted to say that yes, she'd been against it and yes, she'd told Clark so … but in all honesty, she couldn't do that. Clark had needed the wake-up call his father had given him this night. It was one of the things she'd decided on her walk earlier and that decision had only been reinforced the more time she'd spent with Clark upstairs, listening to him complain. Still, it was a shame things had descended to this.

She adjusted her head on Jonathan's shoulder then took his hand in hers as she finally gave her answer.

"No, I didn't tell him whose idea it was. It really hurt the way Clark looked at me like I'd forsaken him or something, but you were right to take him over your lap and I was right to support you. We're a team on this, Jonathan. That's all Clark needs to know. His behavior has been extremely disappointing, and it needs to change for the better starting tonight, although I think it'll be awhile before he agrees with us and takes responsibility like we raised him to. He's far too upset right now that we dared to spank him."

Jonathan wasn't surprised. "He probably won't apologize to either of us for about ten more days, sweetheart, not if he's anything like I was."

"That long?"

"That long. When I was Clark's age, I never forgave my parents either until at least a week or two after a hiding, which means I'm sure our son will be speaking to us again just fine by the end of the month."

"I hope so."

"And I know so. He's a good boy," Jonathan added, hugging Martha closer. "He just forgot that for a while. If we give him room to lick his wounds in private and reconsider how his behavior got him punished in the first place, I guarantee you he'll come around. I know my son."

Martha didn't doubt that, but as the TV was unmuted, she snuggled closer to Jonathan and resolved nonetheless to keep a sharp eye on their little family. If things weren't completely back to normal within exactly ten days, she had no problems at all forcing the issue.

Their family was just too small for conflicts of this nature to be allowed to fester.

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(Eight days later)

As soon as he'd finished cleaning the last of the porch lights – and the ladder had been stored properly back in the barn – Clark lingered in the doorway and felt lonely, watching his father some forty feet away preparing to rotate the tires on the family's pickup truck without him. He wished his dad would spot him standing here and call out to him, maybe ask for help, but he also knew that wasn't likely even if his dad did glance over and see him.

Clark Kent was being given space to come around on his own time. It was up to him now to swallow his pride, step up to his dad, admit his faults and apologize, but … what if he couldn't? What if he was no longer able to just march over there without a second thought and talk to his closest parent like he used to?

Clark knew his dad wanted him to. The man had taken him aside the very next day after _it_ happened, and he'd said repeatedly that they could talk anytime Clark himself was ready. Dad had smiled at him and squeezed his shoulders with affection just like he always did, and he'd even kissed the side of Clark's head to remind him that he was loved, so it shouldn't be this difficult to get their relationship back to normal after all that. But it was somehow, and Clark hated it. He hated feeling guilty, hated even more that he was estranged from his own parents because he was too cowardly to make things right.

This wasn't how he was raised, damn it!

Why was he still acting like this?

Abruptly, Clark decided he didn't care about the reason. He only cared about the solution, so he chewed his lower lip for only a moment, ignored the shameful blush he could feel creeping up his face and went over to his father just as the man was standing up.

"Dad?"

Jonathan turned to his boy with a distracted smile of welcome before gesturing to the right front tire of their red Dodge Ram.

"Hey, son. Give me a hand? I need to head into the house for a minute. Nature's calling. Just loosen the lug nuts for me and I'll do the rest when I get back."

"Uh … sure."

Clark watched his father disappear inside then turned to the truck and stared at it a moment, chiding himself for being so disappointed. How old was he, three? His father had no idea he was finally ready to talk, so he should be allowed to go the bathroom, if he wanted to, shouldn't he? Of course, he should. Heck, he should be allowed to go the bathroom at anytime for any reason. His son, on the other hand, needed to grow up and stop acting like such a kid.

Nodding to himself with determination, Clark squatted and got to work. When his father returned twenty minutes later, eyebrows arched in surprise, Clark was almost done. He glanced up.

"I got it, Dad. Just sit and relax while I finish."

Jonathan couldn't bring himself to do that. He walked around the truck instead, making sure no nuts had been forgotten on the ground, then patted his rising son on the shoulder for a job well done. "Thank you for this, but I asked for a hand, not for you to do it all."

Clark shrugged modestly while he wiped the dirt off his palms with a rag. "Yeah, well, you deserve a break after all the chores you've done for me these last few months."

"Uh huh. Does this mean you've learned your lesson? I can count on you to do your fair share around this farm and your chores will get done on time without any reminders?"

Clark blushed at the pointed look his father was now giving him but stood tall and looked him straight in the eyes. "Yes, sir."

"And you'll curb the attitude and ask us for permission before you go anywhere?"

Clark nodded firmly. "Yes, sir. I'll behave from now on, I promise."

"Then you're forgiven, son. One hundred percent. C'mere."

Clark didn't hesitate the moment his father's arms opened to him. He stepped into the hug and returned it fiercely, realizing only then just how much he'd been missing this. It had been too long since he'd allowed his dad to touch him without brushing him off or giving snark and attitude in return – although _why_ he'd been such a dick for so long, Clark had no idea. He blinked fast and squeezed tighter.

"I'm sorry, Daddy. I don't know what came over me. I'm really, really sor—"

"Sh, son, I know you are." Jonathan cupped the back of his son's head and rubbed it, knowing instinctively how much his boy needed to feel a warm touch right now. "You went a little too wild, but you've been punished for overstepping the line and it's over. No more apologies and no more fading into the background, looking all guilty-like whenever I come near. Got it? " When Clark reluctantly let go but said nothing, remorse still radiating from him with his attention trained on the ground, Jonathan tipped his chin back up. "Hey, look at me, son. You got it?"

Clark met his father's gaze slowly. What he saw in the man's eyes was nothing but love and understanding, so he forced himself to nod and return his dad's smile.

"Okay. I got it."

"Good." Jonathan clapped him around the shoulder then gave him a gentle push toward the house. "Now go clean up then get back out here. We'll take a trip to town for some ice cream, you and me."

Clark stopped and turned back immediately, his smile fading. "I can't go today, Dad. I'm grounded, remember?"

"You are? Since when?"

Clark blushed and hoped his father wouldn't really make him say the words aloud, but when the man just looked at him in confusion, Clark forced himself to buck up. "Since … since the night you spanked me, Dad."

Jonathan's brow cleared, his eyes twinkling. "Are you sure about that, son? I don't remember telling you that you were grounded. I said you'd graduated. Big difference."

For a good ten seconds, Clark was stumped. It was true his dad hadn't exactly _told_ him last week that he was confined to the farm until further notice, but isn't that what parents are supposed to do on the heels of a spanking? The mild amusement on his father's face said he was seriously mistaken to think so, but how could that be? Clark studied Jonathan's face hard.

"I don't get it. Are you positive I'm not grounded? You and Mom always make me stay home now whenever I miss my curfew on purpose. I just figured after the way I acted I deserved—"

Jonathan cut him off right there. "Well, that explains why you've been hanging around here for days, doing every extra chore you could think of instead of taking off for Pete's house. I'm sorry to tell you this, son, but you've been suffering needlessly. Your punishment this time was the spanking alone. No grounding."

"Well … that sucks. Crap, I can't believe this!"

"I can." Jonathan noted the fierce scowl that Clark was starting to wear and went over to console him with a hair rumple. "You have a conscience, son, the strongest one I've ever seen in a teenage boy."

"You sure about that?" Clark snapped. "I've been pretty much ignoring it ever since I lost my stupid abilities."

"You faltered, Clark, that's all," Jonathan corrected kindly. "Everyone does eventually, especially when they're fifteen, but from the looks of things, you're back on the right path and no father was ever more proud."

"Thanks, I guess."

"You're welcome. I love you to the ends of the earth and beyond, no matter how you behave, and so does your mother. Don't ever forget that."

Clark still wanted to kick himself for wasting all these days thinking he was grounded, but after taking a look at the pride in his father's eyes, he was sort of glad he'd jumped to conclusions. He relaxed for the first time in what felt like forever and allowed his face to break into a huge smile.

"I love you too, Dad. Should we invite Mom to come with us?"

"Absolutely," Jonathan said with a chuckle. "Go wash your hands, tell your mother to stop whatever she's doing and grab her purse. The Kent family is heading into town."


End file.
